to lose all my senses that is just so typically me
by varicose
Summary: Sometimes, Brody didn't know why he came here. She was this imperfect, perfect little thing, this broken little glass ballerina.


_Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue._

He waited ten minutes for the crowd to clear from the studio. Studio B, on the third floor of the theater wing, had been Cassie's since she started at Niada. The years of wear and tear were visible in the floorboards, scratches from the nails of so many eager students were well embedded in the wood, along with endless scuffs, and an everlasting sheen of what little natural light came in through the marbled windows. Cassie's shit always lay in the corners, a couple of torn sweaters, leotards, the occasional prop. The mirrors stayed so pristine, always draped with her many scarves. Brody stepped into Studio B, he knew this place well.

"Here, help me," was the first thing Cassie said to him as he entered. He shut the door behind him, and after hearing the resounding click, he felt the rest of the world melt away. The studio was its own planet; Cassie its only inhabitant. The rest of them were really just visitors trying to learn Cassie's native language.

He came up to where she stood in front of the mirror. She lifted her left leg lazily into the air, waiting for him. He watched his reflection put his hand on the inner thigh, and lift the lug until it was cocked straight, calf curving around Cassie's face. She let out a soft sigh in the stretch.

"What was that yesterday?" she suddenly said, her voice low and authoritative. Brody stiffened.

"Just helping a friend out."

Cassie thrust her leg out of his hold and brought it down sharply, turning and giving him a lazy push away.

"Oh,_ friend, _is she?" He heard something in her voice, a hint of jealousy? The thought was invigorating. He followed her around the studio, waiting for her to dance back to him.

"Yes. Rachel's a friend. You know, you don't have to give her such a hard time," he started to say.

"Please, Brody." She rolled her eyes, dazzling against those long lashes. "Britney Spears? I've seen sexier performances put on by girls in their pyjamas at slumber parties."

"What? You don't like Britney? You don't like Rachel?"

"I don't like her…audacity," she said, sounding finite. He backed off her for a minute, sensing that the little beast that lived in Cassie was about to come out and pounce on him. She could be so erratic, so dangerous. Unexpectedly, she turned back to him. "I have to let her ego crumble. And I don't have to explain myself to her. To you."

Brody stopped tracing her steps.

"You let her try the tango today."

Cassie let a smile linger on her face, but didn't regard what he'd said. Instead, she walked up to him with purpose.

"Did you really find her sexy?"

"You know she was." He remembered the sight of Rachel's thighs above him, and the sound of her voice echoing through the studio.

Cassie rolled her eyes again, and he wondered if she knew he liked when she did that. In an instant, she had poised her thigh around his hip, brought up his arms and let her lean against him in the tango. At the last minute, she kicked at his leg and brought him down onto his knee. From there, she worked her way up him, slowly, gracefully, until he was flat on his back. She still had her thigh pressed against his hip, her other leg lay flat against his.

"You don't even _know _sexy," she whispered.

He was hard. This was all much too easy for her, wasn't it? His mind became clouded with her, the golden legs, the _hair_ was all over him. Rachel who?

"You're right." He heard the words come out of his mouth, but as soon as he said it, he remembered Rachel's red, red lips. He had almost kissed them last night. He thought about it all through the train ride home, but he was pulled out of the memory as Cassie's smooth lips kissed his jaw line. Softly, she began to sing "_Oops, I did it again." _

He kissed her full on the lips, to shut her up, to feel her tongue. She was sickly sweet, like the candy his nutritionist wouldn't allow him to have. She dragged her sharp nails across his chest, pressing into him. It was almost the same as when he first kissed her in their one-on-one class, last year, when she was helping him prepare for his Broadway premiere. She was his teacher.

Cassie pulled away from him. In a few spidery moments, she was off his body, folded up in front of him.

"You like her," she said, all mischievous.

Brody sat up, winded.

"So what if I do?"

Cassie stared at him as if she was trying to tell him something. He'd give anything to read her mind. After a moment, she crawled back to him and pushed him back into the well-worn wood. She kissed him slow and sweet, so unlike her. He tasted the bitter remains of vodka, a taste that was becoming more and more frequent. Often, they drank together, as if it were an occasional party. He knew that she drank more, though. He knew that she always was zipping with alcohol fire.

"You're too good for her," she said.

"What was it you said? About crumbling egos?"

"You are, Brody. I don't need to tell you that. You'll be cast as soon as you're out of here." Only she said it sadly, as if it was a bad thing.

Sometimes, Brody didn't know why he came here. She was this imperfect, perfect little thing, this broken little glass ballerina. Sometimes, when she was much too drunk, he felt her hanging off him. She would lose her finesse. And then, without warning, she was back to being the colossal woman, dancing daggers around him. A year, they'd been going at this. He was half relieved, half angry that she and him were the exact same as they'd been when he first fucked her against those beams. She never changed for him, things never got better. At first, he would imagine taking subway rides with her, going to jazz clubs and holding hands. Not once, though, did she let him out of this room, out of Studio B. He was beginning to feel caged.

"You know why I like her?" he whispered back to her. This time, he rolled her off him.

"She reminds you of Barbra?" Cassie said, but he ignored her.

"I can walk down campus with her. I can kiss her wherever I want."

Cassie sighed and leaned onto her elbow.

"Baby-" but he cut her off.

"She's younger than me. Maybe I can teach her something," he said.

"Like how to dance?" she said, drawly.

Brody stood up and wandered over to the beams. He imagined Cassie there, last year, sliding her tights off into a crumpled pile at his feet.

"Like how to fuck." The words escaped him, and when Cassie looked at him with her eyes low, he siad, "maybe she'll surprise you with her tango."

The sun was beginning to set behind the marble glass windows, casting an even lower light in the room. It was always so big and empty when no one was dancing here. Cassie was a dragon in her cave, only she had no egg to protect, just her fire.

"Then I suppose…you should stop fucking me," Cassie said slowly.

"I suppose I should." He leaned against the bars, watching her get up from the floor and stalk toward him. He really did think that Rachel was sexy. Her song had charged him, he was infatuated. But Cassie came and rested her body against his, and again he forgot what it was he was here for. He felt her hand grab him, heat coming off her in waves.

"But you won't stop, will you?"


End file.
